Snowdrifts In 1955 I was 21 and working as a telepgrapher with Canadian National Railway. During late February, I was training to become the Supervisor of Student Operators. My boss, the Chief Train Dispatcher, called and said they needed an experienced operator at Gaff Topsails for a specific assignment. They were about to raise the rail bed, thinking it would lessen the accumulation of snow from the severe drifting. They needed to measure snowfall, and temperature, estimate the wind strength and direction, and report every four hours, and they were sending me. It was mandatory volunteering. I went home to Harbour Grace to get some work clothes. I boarded the westbound express at Whitbourne the next evening; I telegraphed ahead to Millertown Junction to get the local grocer to pack a bag of groceries. The Express train stopped for about two minutes, at a place called Quarry. It was in the middle of nowhere, the most isolated, desolate, barren place I ever saw. Watching the tail light of that train produced a lonesome, frightening feeling. Looking around, I saw a small shack, almost covered with snow. There was another tiny shack to the right, and across the track was a water chute. Everything else was a sea of white. Fortunately, included with my groceries was an enamel pan, which became my shovel. Inside the shack was a long desk, four bunk beds, a stove, a fry pan and a cooking pot. There was no coal, and the four bunk beds had no mattresses or springs. There were plenty of grey wool blankets, which I used to make a bed on the desk, where I bunked for the next 23 days. On the desk was a crank phone and telegraph key, and a bill of lading, showing the shack next door contained "shims." I used my faithful pan to clear the snow again, and picked up some shims. In short order, a fire was burning, and the place warmed quickly. I cleaned up the contacts on the key and the phone. I could telegraph out, but they couldn't telegraph in, and I could hear on the phone, but they couldn't hear me. I began sending the weather reports every four hours, and missed only one in 23 days. My coworker sent a technician the next day by, and he fixed both instruments. For the first day, the train dispatcher would whistle or shout into the phone (which I had left off the hook) until I answered. He also sent a 12-gauge shotgun. I couldn't figure out why. There was nothing there to shoot. The only live thing I saw was a fox who came out once a day to drink. Later, I discovered there were hundreds of partridges, but they were white and invisible. I got heck from the Roadmaster for burning his shims, but my boss straightened that up quickly. Coal and an alarm clock arrived after a couple of days, which made it easy on me and the shims. The drifting snow was incessant. I'm told there was one spot, after a train went through, the snow was so high it seemed like a tunnel. The 7 miles to Gaff Topsail itself was all up grade, so Quarry was in a hollow. Small wonder why there was such an accumulation of snow. I didn't know a thing about cooking, so I spoiled more food than I ate. The grocer had supplied the ingredients for a Jiggs dinner which was so salty and burnt, I had to throw it away. Thank the Lord he included tin food, and a pocket knife which was my can opener. My fare included bacon and eggs, eggs and bologna. After a few days, the Rotary Plow came through, and I went onboard to say hello. I smelled salt beef and cabbage dinner and asked if I could have some, but the cook refused. Fortunately, there was a Mr. McCarthy, the traveling Engineer, on board, and he heard the conversation. He told the cook to give me what was left. I ate wonderfully for the next few days, and cabbage hash never tasted better. I am still indebted to Mr. McCarthy. One day, a freight train came through, and the Conductor asked if his son-in-law could come for a couple of days to shoot some birds. I agreed, and hoped they could cook. They showed me how to identify the birds, and clean and cook them. He knew the birds blended into the snow, but their red eyes didn't, and that's how he caught them. There were times when they killed several birds with one shot. The cooked a big "scoff," and besides the ones they took home, they left me a dozen. Cooked. They had their own sleeping bags, and were comfortable and warm. That was the year the Newfoundland Brewery put out green beer for St. Patrick's Day, and all I had was an advertisement in the Sunday Herald. After that, each day was about the same. I kept the fire going, and was comfortable but alone. I got called back to St. John's to resume the training for the Supervisory job. They sent a fellow to relieve me, and when he got off the Express and realized he would be there alone, he asserted, "If you get on that train, I will too." I stayed, and soon they sent a second fellow for the duration of the assignment. On arrival in St. John's, I went to the Paymaster's office, as he had my paychecks stopped, suggesting nobody could have worked that much time. I challenged him to find one overtime slip without an authorization number, and if so, not to pay me for it. As a matter of interest, I made more money that month than some people made for the whole year. There was one period when not one train got through for five days. Would I have done this twenty years later, or now? Not a chance. I must emphasize, though, I thoroughly enjoyed my time with CN, and met a multitude of wonderful people, some of whom are still friends over fifty years later.   Submitted By: NULL